


Dean Winchester Doesn't Pray

by somuchforbaggles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchforbaggles/pseuds/somuchforbaggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean talks to his mom all the time, even if she's dead and it's stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester Doesn't Pray

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after seeing [ this tumblr post. ](http://nyokala.tumblr.com/post/43080223422/new-headcanon-dean-talks-to-his-mom-all-the-time)
> 
> I couldn't get the thought out of my head, and just added some of my own headcanons too!

The first time Dean spoke to his mother after she died, it was Sam's first birthday. There hadn't been much celebration, just his dad saying, “It's Sam's first birthday today,” with a melancholy expression at the realisation. It had been a whole six months.

“Hey Mom. Dad says it's Sammy's birthday today. I got him a flower from a garden. The lady was pretty mad, but I said it was for my brother and it was his birthday, and after that she seemed less mad. I thought I'd talk to you, 'cause whenever it's my birthday, you make me a cake. But Sam didn't get a cake.”

After that, even in his five-year old brain, he felt a bit stupid, with him talking to no one and all. But there was a nice lady who dad went to see, and he overheard her saying that talking to Mary would help. Dean didn't know a whole lot, but he knew Mary was his mom's name. His dad has brushed off the idea, instead tending to Sam, but Dean had thought about it. If it would make his Dad feel better, he would talk to his mom. He just wouldn't let Dad hear.

* * *

He was six, and Dad was drunk. Dean played with his brother, who was chewing on the corner of a thick book. “Sammy! You gotta stop eatin' those. Dad'll get mad. You're too old for chewin' things, anyway. Read it, instead.” Sam had gazed up at his big brother, hazel eyes bright. Dean ruffled his hair and went over to his bed, although he couldn't really call it his as Sam liked to sleep in it half the night. He pulled out a photo he had found in his dad's wallet, and talked to it. It was a picture of him and his mom, in the garden in the old house. They had just had a little picnic, his mom saying that it was a wonderful day, and it shouldn't be wasted. Dad had smiled and agreed. Sammy had been about three months, and spent most of the time in his mother's arms. He had taken to rolling from his back and his front, so entertained himself with doing that while John took that opportunity to take a picture of his wife and eldest son.

“Hi Mom. Dad's out again. I asked him why he didn't say that angels were watching over us. He just looked sad, and said that was your job now. Are you an angel now? I think you'd make a pretty angel. Dad misses you. He keeps saying your name when he sleeps. It makes me sad that Sam's not gonna know you. You made really good pie, and the ones Dad buys me when I ask aren't as nice. I miss you.”

* * *

Dean woke up in a cold sweat. He was starting to have the same nightmares as his dad. There was fire. Lots of fire. And his dad telling him to take Sammy. He didn't understand what was going on. He padded over to the next bed, where Sam was asleep. He let out a breath of relief. Thank God Sam was too young to have these nightmares. He flopped down on his bed, fanning his hand to cool the air, but started to panic again more when he couldn't remember where he had put the picture. Dean tried to think, but the colours behind his eyes when he shut them were too much. He felt his breathing quicken and his throat close up, but the tears wouldn't come.

“Mom?” he choked out. “Please don't let Sammy ever have to go through that. I don't want him to have bad dreams. Just as long as he doesn't have 'em, I think I can deal with 'em. But I wanna sleep tonight. Please.”

He turned over to the other side, where the other bed was. Dad wasn't there again. He really needed his mom right now, so she could hug him and say everything was going to be okay. But he knew he couldn't rely on that. Dean wasn't allowed to want hugs. He was eight years and a half years old, he needed to be a man. Dean was the one who assured his father and brother that everything was going to be okay. He threw the covers off his bed, not wanting to be too hot in case it set off another nightmare about the fire. He heard the bed next to him creak, and Sam got up and snuggled next to his big brother, an arm thrown over Dean's chest. Dean ruffled his hair, suddenly grateful for his brother's cold feet, and soon drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It had been the same routine for a few years now. He talked to Mom, felt stupid, and stopped. Most of the time now he only talked to her in his head. He was eleven, and couldn't be seen by his dad or his brother speaking to his dead mom. He'd seen on TV when people talked to graves, and he thought that was just creepy and weird. Why talk to a stone? Soon, he thought, that would be their only memory of them. Just a headstone with flowers by it. He was thankful in this way, that he never saw her grave. He had got the inclination that he wasn't supposed to get too attached to graves anyway. So he kept that one picture with him everywhere he went: in his jeans pocket, in the bedside table of the month, under the pillow of the uncomfortable bed.

Dad had been gone for a week this time. It was Thanksgiving, and he had managed to steal a pack of turkey from the fridge section of a service station.

“Here you go Sam. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Dean, where are the greens? You gotta have something healthy.”

“Shut your mouth and eat up! It's the best we're getting.”

Sam pouted, but ate half of the ten slices. His brother was right. It wasn't as if Dad was going to come home (the term was used loosely) with a whole table full of food for them. He looked at the door expectantly, as though those thoughts would summon him. But they didn't. He sighed. He bet if he had thought _'this is the perfect day, things could not go better!'_ then he would have been struck by lightning in their motel room before finishing his train of thought. Damn Sod's Law.

Dean had been eyeing his brother during this, and excused himself to go take a piss. “Dean! Ew.”

“Uh, hey Mom. Sorry this is coming from, y'know, a bathroom, but I know it's been a while. I'm really mad at Dad. It's Thanksgiving, and he hasn't even made the effort to let us know if he's okay. He spent the last five Thanksgivings with us, what's so different about this one? Got a really important dude to burn? It better be the damn president! Sammy's growing up. Which, uh, you can probably see. I dunno, is there a heaven? Are you there? 'Cause there sure is a hell. I've seen demons, Mom. Real ones. Dad's training us up, to be hunters, so we can ice the bastard that killed you. Sorry. Language. I know. But yeah, Sam. He's getting real clever. The last school we went to, it was for like, six months, and he was top of his class. I'm real proud of him. I know you would be too.”

* * *

“Oh God. Oh God, oh God oh God, Mom. Sammy's gone. He left. For Stanford. He didn't even tell me he was going before he was arguing with Dad, the son of a bitch. What do I do? Dad's just driving. He left me here in the road. He said he couldn't be near me right now. Oh God. Please, I know this is stupid. Just make it better. Please. I don't like him angry. I don't know what he's gonna do. If the next hunt is gonna be for some werewolf or Sam. Just bring him back. Make him realise that he needs to be here with us, where we know he's safe. What if something happens? It's my job to look after him, always has been, always will be.

"Maybe it's a good thing. He got out. He can have a life. Sammy's never liked hunting. He doesn't have it in him. I've been keeping him in libraries as long as I can, Mom, I promise. I promise I've tried to bring him up like I think you would have. Just...I don't know. If you're out there, up there, whatever, just try and...make him happy. I'll take care of Dad. Watch over Sammy now. I don't need it.”

* * *

“Okay, this is probably the last time I'm gonna talk to you. Not only 'cause it's dumb and girly and something I did when I was a kid, but 'cause I'm going to Hell. I probably won't be able to talk to you there, what with all the screaming I'll be doin'. Sorry. Even trying to make jokes as I'm goin' to my death! Ahh. You know me. So, uh, just look after Sam, and say hi and bye to Dad for me. Make sure he's okay, okay? Okay. Uh, bye. And...damn it. I love you. Thanks for listening to me all this time. See ya.”

* * *

“Hey. Umm...so, I'm back. And there are such things as angels. Which means you're definitely in Heaven. That's a good thing. That means I've been talking to something! So hey. Hi, Mom. Have you met Castiel? He's the one who dragged my ass outta Hell. You probably told him to, knowing you. Thanks for looking after Sam, although it seems that demon chick Ruby has done her fair share of lookin' after him. You'd gimme a sign, right? If she wasn't to be trusted? I mean, I told Sam, and he thought she was good. But there's something about her. I don't like her. Just smite her from wherever you are if she gets in our way, okay? Can you do that? I've seen Cas do it. Castiel. And his angel buddies.

"I know if you stay in Hell long enough, you become a demon, but if you stay in Heaven for – I don't know, a whatever amount of time – do you get angel status? Just wondered. Doubt it though. They're weird. Ain't got emotions, don't feel things properly. Not what I've seen of 'em, anyway. So you'd be a bad angel. A pretty one, but a bad one. Too much heart.”

* * *

“I saw you. You. I've been talkin' to you all this time, and there you were. Castiel told me I had to 'stop it'. But I couldn't. I'm so sorry, Mom. And something's up with Sam....I'm sorry. I can't do this.”

* * *

“I can't do it, Mom. They said I had to end it. But I can't. This is too big. I just...it's too much. How can they just expect me to do it? I wish they'd put me back. Put me back for good. I was better off torturing those poor people than I ever will be tryin' to save the world up here. I can't. You forgive me, right? I know I'm a worse man than Dad ever was. I broke. I broke, Mom. Do you forgive me? I wouldn't...I gotta go...I got hurt pretty bad. I've had worse though...had...worse - damn drugs. Let me talk...to my...”

* * *

“We're gonna do it. We're gonna try and save this goddamn planet. Cas is gonna help too, the son of a bitch. Help us. We need all the help we can get.”

That was the last time he spoke to his mother in almost five years. For the first, he was running from Michael, and all the vessel crap. He saw her and Dad when Anna tried to kill them. He figured that was enough. He said everything he could, then. And obviously there was nothing his mom could do to stop the apocalypse, so what could she do about this? He didn't really expect it of her. Dean was just angry at himself, for trusting in the unknown potential force of his dead mother. She was just a soul in Heaven, what could she do? She could only watch over him. She couldn't protect them.

For the second year, he tried to bury all remnants of his past. He promised Sam he'd try and live a normal life. Talking to his mom wasn't normal. Lisa might have thought it was stupid. Ben would have thought it was weird. Hell, he thought it was stupid and weird! But sometimes, on a particularly sunny day, when he was raking leaves or whatever, he would feel a presence. This is what she would have wanted. Her son, not hunting. She never wanted them to anyway. So he would garden, or help Ben with homework, and he would feel something. He liked to think it was her.

The third year, Dean was confused as shit. There was Sam, and Samuel, and Alphas, and Jefferson Starships, and Cas being weird, and he didn't talk to her once. Well, if you don't count when Eve took on Mary's form. Then Cas turned into God. It freaked him out. He couldn't talk to his mom about this, not if Cas could go crazy at any given moment and take her soul out of heaven. So he tried not to think about her. He also tried not to think about the fact that he had trusted Castiel. He had prayed to him, actually prayed. Only a few times, but he couldn't tell his mom he'd been talking to someone else. She probably already knew, but he didn't want her feeling like she was less important. Which was stupid, he told himself. She's your mom and she's dead and she can't hear you. That's what you told yourself so you wouldn't feel so alone.

As the fourth year rolled around, he spoke to no-one who was dead. Okay, maybe Bobby, and a few other dead people, but certainly not his mom. And certainly not Cas. All he could do was keep driving, drop the serial killer image, and solve cases by burning and ganking. There was no time for praying. Not to dead angels, not to anything. He wouldn't pray anymore. He wouldn't.

But the year in Purgatory was long, and he had to get through it somehow. He prayed to Cas and his mom, every night.

“Hey Mom...It's been a while. I keep prayin' to Cas, but no answer. I told him about you. Everything I know. All the stuff I've been saying to you over the years. If he can't hear me, then - I don't care. Honestly. He's still crazy, for all I know. Sorry it's been so long.”

“He still isn't answering. I don't know how long it's been, but I swear, Benny's the only thing keepin' me sane. But I'll find him. I'll make it right. I'll get us all out.”

“Benny said we shouldn't worry about Cas, that he left me high and dry with those gorilla things, and I shouldn't want to get him out. But mom, he's...Cas, y'know? I have to get him out. I need him.”

“He's by a lake. Fitting. Talk to you when I feel less guilty and kinda good for getting that info out of a dude the hard way. Sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted.”

“I found him. Thanks, if you helped. Ahh, I promised myself I wouldn't do this anymore...So this is the last time, I promise. You enjoy the afterlife, with Dad. I promise I'll talk to people, real people, when I get out. I'll talk to Sam, we won't have secrets anymore. I'll talk to Benny, if he sticks around. It has been kinda nice, having him around...And I'll help Kevin, and Garth, and we'll do it together, Team Free Will, me, Sam, and Cas. So, bye. For the last time, I promise. Don't worry about me. I don't wanna distract you from whatever your Heaven is. Did I ever tell you? You were in my Heaven. You made me breakfast.”

* * *

After Cas told Dean he was virtually suicidal and then disappeared a couple of weeks later to Heaven, Dean began to worry. He wasn't answering. Dean prayed near on three times a day. To Cas, to God, if he was still out there, and to any angels who could tell him what was going on with his friend. One particularly arduous and tough day, that number increased to four.

“Hey Mom. I've asked around, I've prayed, I've done everything, goddamnit. Is Cas there? Please say he's okay. I don't think I could – I wouldn't be able to – I could never – Argh. Just...if he's there, tell him to get his ass down here and let me know he's okay. And if he's not...then...I don't wanna think about it. We got this whole Men of Letters boy-band thing going on right now, so we found a place to stay for a while. Tell him he's got a room, if he wants one. I got rid of all the angel sigils I could find. I know only he can find us, with the rib markings and all that. I don't even know how they knew to put angel sigils up, I didn't even know - or believe - they existed 'til a few years ago. There's a kitchen, I can make him burgers. Oh Mom, they're so good! I made Sam one and he ate it all without bitching. I got my own room now. I put your picture in it. You know, the one I've had forever? So at least you're watching over me. Not that I need Cas to watch ov – never mind. Just...ask around please. I need him.”


End file.
